


Just A Job

by sugarsweetsunshine



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Chronic Pain, Crying, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Heavy Angst, Panic Attacks, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, gonna be honest guys this is like extremely sad, its subtle tho - Freeform, like wow, read if you like seeing noct in sever emotional distress, small reference to suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 07:05:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19224109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarsweetsunshine/pseuds/sugarsweetsunshine
Summary: Noctis accidentally discovers how his friends really feel about him and suffers an emotional breakdown that he doesn't think he'll recover from. There's only so much his body can take and he believes this is his limit.His so-called friends have to reflect on their words and their relationship with Noctis and think about how they actually feel and what they've kept bottled up inside.





	Just A Job

**Author's Note:**

> so this came to me during some random angst fest and the full inspiration came from a kinkmeme prompt that i have yet to find but still vaguely remember. but i will find it and i will post it here.
> 
> anyway, i really hope you guys enjoy. this is only the first chapter but i want to write more and its currently 5 am when im posting this so i need to go to bed before my crying dehydrates me. 
> 
> comments are greatly appreciated :)

The light on his phone blinks in a pattern that's almost mesmerizing. It goes in seconds; blue one second, gone the next, blue one second, gone the next. He becomes so entranced by it that he doesn't realize he's been counting the flashes for a while now. He's somewhere in the hundreds, but he may have lost count somewhere along the way and just made up a number.

 

Everything hurts. It hurts too much to move. His limbs ache from the solo training session he did nearly a week ago and he suspects that he pulled several muscles during that time. He doesn't remember much past burning the training dummies with a flask and decapitating the rest. Most of all, his back _aches_. He'd forgotten to take his morning medicine a few days ago, he can't remember when, and if he starts taking them now it'll be at least another few days before it starts working again and easing the pain.

 

He really doesn't want to get up. He doesn't want to move an inch from the spot in his bed where he's laid for the past few days. His stomach growls ravenously with hunger and his tongue is dry from lack of fluids, but there's an old glass of water sitting on his nightstand, right next to his phone. He just doesn't want to pick it up. He's too tired.

 

His phone vibrates again with another message that will go unread and the blue light blinks twice this time, which throws him off his counting. He grunts in annoyance but he doesn't want to start counting again. A part of him contemplates picking up his phone just to see how many missed calls and messages and notifications he actually has but the rest of him immediately shoves that idea to the side in favor of rolling over to face away from the stand. 

A sharp twinge of pain rolls up his back as he does so and Noctis hisses as he carefully rearranges his blanket cocoon around him. It hurts to move so fast. It hurts. That's all he can think about. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. 

 

It **hurts**.

 

His eyes start to burn and he starts choking on the lump in his throat and Noctis grimaces. He doesn't want to cry anymore, he really doesn't. He's so tired and crying takes so much energy. There's already wetness streaking down his cheeks and making him feel uncomfortable but he doesn't think he's really crying. He blinks through the murkiness in his eyes and looks out towards the nearest window, where the curtains are drawn back and the night sky can clearly be seen. 

 

Insomnia is quiet, which is rare. It's the city that never sleeps, after all. But Noctis can't hear a thing outside. No cars, no birds, no rain, no yelling, no talking. Nothing. He sees lights in the windows of the apartment buildings and some shops down on the streets but everything is quiet and peaceful. He doesn't like this kind of quiet. It makes him uncomfortable, uneasy, and the scared, pained eight-year-old in him flinches in remembrance. He's scared of the quiet.

 

Noctis whines and tried to bury himself further into the blankets, feeling so much like that scared little child again. He doesn't want this, he hates this, he hates it so much. He doesn't want to feel like this anymore. He doesn't want to be so tired and sad and in so much pain. He wants to feel normal again. 

 

But he can't and he won't. The thought makes him choke back sobs and bury his face into his pillow to hide his shameful tears.

 

 

He never wants to get up from this bed again. 

 

 

 

~~~

 

_A few days earlier..._

 

 

He sees red. 

 

 

Noctis always thought that was just a figure of speech, or something they use in books or cartoons to give emphasis on someone's anger. But no, he's never felt like this in his life. He hates it.

 

He's never felt so angry before. He doesn't like the way it makes him feel, how every thought he has twists and changes into something so violent and awful it makes him sick. 

 

He's never been so violent before. He knows that when he's done, the Kingsglaive are going to have to shut down their training arena for at least a few days while they clean up his mess. Cursing his name, calling him a spoiled, entitled, self-centered, little **brat**.

And why shouldn't they? After all, isn't that just what he is? Prince Noctis: the boy who only cares about himself, who puts himself at the top and everyone at the bottom, the one who whines and cries until he gets his way, making messes just so other people have to clean it up. 

 

Prince Noctis: the boy who tries and triumphs in making everyone's lives harder just by existing.

 

He yells when he throws another flask as hard as he can, packed full of firaga magic. He watches it explode from halfway across the arena in a storm of blazing heat and shards of glass. It doesn't dissipate immediately but when the area eventually clears, there are still patches of fire sticking to the dirt and whatever grass used to grow there, along the walls of the broken down building structures used for warping practice. The impact zone when the spell first unleashed is a dark black that almost looks like a void and Noctis can still feel the heat on his face from the fire. But he's not done.

 

By the time half of the arena is covered in charred ash, chunks of frozen solid ice, and the training dummies are nothing more than piles of wood and stuffing, he's still not done. But he hurts all over. His sword limply falls from his hand and clatters to the stone floor as the exhaustion and soreness finally sets in. Noctis drops to his knees and curls his fists into the material of his pants, willing himself not to lose himself again. He doesn't want to; doesn't want to give into his anger and pain. He doesn't like it, doesn't like the way it makes him feel. How _awful_ he feels.

 

 

Then he thinks of the words he heard. What he shouldn't have heard. What he wishes he'd never heard. His _friends_ discussing all of his annoying little habits and how much of a pain he is and how much work he is. How awful he is to be around. How they really felt about him this whole time.

 

He hears his oldest _friend_ , the one he used to see as a brother, moaning about Noctis' apparent inability to care for himself down to the smallest detail. He hears him say if he hadn't spent so much of his life indebted to the Crown he would just walk out now, but why waste that part of his life? It's nothing but an annoying job at this point. Ignis spent his entire life training to become the king's advisor but not a bloody nanny on top of everything. 

 

Then he hears the person he's supposed to trust the most, his Shield, bitch and moan about apparently every little thing he can think about Noct. His laziness, his apathy to everything and everyone, his lack of commitment. Everything. He'd never heard Gladio say so many things with such venom in his voice. He even mentions when they were kids and Noctis helped Iris out of trouble, something that Noctis believed helped mend their relationship, but even that could be chalked up to one of the few times he decides to "get off his ass and do something".

 

And, as if it couldn't possibly get anymore soul-crushing, he hears the one person he thought he could feel _normal_ with agree with the other two. Talk about how Noctis was never able to hang out with him and when he was, all he would do was yawn and complain about all his "stupid royal business". How the real Noctis wasn't the one he thought about befriending over a year ago. Apparently, fantasy Noctis was a thousand times better than real Noctis. Noctis never thought he could hear regret in a person's voice until now.

 

They'd had no idea he was there. Just behind the wall, about to show up and apologize for keeping them waiting so long. He wonders what other things they must have said when he left, choking back tears so they wouldn't hear it. Probably more complaining about him never showing up for training sessions because obviously he has better things to do than to disappoint them more.

 

 

His body aches and his chest hurts from not getting enough air. His palms bleed where his fingernails pierced the skin. His eyes and throat burn but he holds it all back. His thoughts race through his head, too chaotic and confusing to think straight.

 

_He trusted them. His whole life with them had been a lie. He trusted them. He was nothing more than a job to all of them. He trusted them. So many lies told right to his face, so many fake smiles, so many fake conversations. He trusted them. He trusted them. **HE TRUSTED THEM**_.

 

His throat is already burning but he screams himself raw and listens to his voice echo in the emptiness.

 

 

Getting home was awful. He hurt all over and he knew he looked like a mess. But he'd had his car with him so he drove himself home, ignoring the sharp pains all of his body until he got inside his apartment. He didn't immediately sit down, no he couldn't. If he did, he wouldn't get back up. Wouldn't want to get back up. 

 

The first thing he did was pull the fridge door open, snag a water bottle from the fridge, and down half of it in the time it took him to slam the door shut again. He'd pulled his phone out from his pocket, glaring at the stupid background picture of him and Prompto that he now hated, and pulled up the number of his assistant.

 

He didn't even wait for her to finish her hello before he started barking out commands. Telling her to pass along the memo that Ignis wouldn't have to continue his 'duties' of coming over, getting to him to school, or making him dinner. To stay in the Citadel where he belonged instead of coddling Noctis and silently loathing him the entire time. If he wanted to be an advisor then fine; Noct didn't need him to basically spoon feed him and waste so much of his time.

 

The second memo was to his Shield and, by using his princely power that Gladiolus oh so hated, ordered that his duties be suspended until further notice. Clarus would no doubt be furious when that eventually made its way to him but Noctis couldn't give a damn. Why waste Gladiolus' potential on some brat who apparently doesn't appreciate it? And why should he even give Gladiolus the time of day?

 

He only waited for a timid confirmation from his assistant before hanging up without so much as a goodbye. He threw his phone a little too harshly onto the counter and all at once, the exhaustion set it. His body hurt so much, his head was pounding in a way it never had before, and he could feel the tell tale pinch in his spine that meant his back was going to join in on the fun too. Noctis felt his breathing start to get heavy again and a wave of dizziness overcame him. His hands shot out to steady himself on the kitchen counter. It felt like he was breathing but everything was too fast and his lungs couldn't get enough air and the room was starting to spin.

 

Noctis whimpered as he fell to the floor, his breathing starting to stutter when it felt as if the walls of his apartment were trying to box him in. He backed up until he felt the cool surface of his fridge and it grounded him somewhat. His lungs were burning but he couldn't understand. He was breathing, right? Why couldn't he breathe? Why did he feel like this? What was happening to him?

 

All at once, a wave of fear struck him as if it was a physical entity slamming into him. He didn't know why he was so scared all of a sudden and that only served to frighten him more. Noctis pulled his knees close to his chest and tried to at least calm himself down. He was becoming more and more dizzy and the fear of passing out on the kitchen floor added to his irrational emotions. He focused on his breathing; finally managing to slow himself down and starting a rhythm of breathing in and out at a slow pace. He'd left the ceiling fan on all day so he watched that make slow circles round and round until his breathing evened out without him noticing.

 

The dizziness was the next to fade away but that took some time. He didn't trust himself not to stand up and immediately hit his head on the table or something. Noctis had no idea how long he was down there on his kitchen floor, dizzy and aching and oh so very tired, whether it be a few minutes or a few hours. Hell, it could have been a few days and he wouldn't have noticed. 

 

He was just so exhausted. He couldn't take it anymore; all the emotions running through him, the pain wracking his body. He just wanted to sleep and maybe...

 

Maybe he never wanted to wake up. That sounded so nice in that moment. To never have to deal with this ever again, to just let this all go away.

 

His phone vibrated so loudly on the countertop that the sound shocked him out of his thoughts. It took him longer than usual to pull himself up from the floor and, before he could stop himself, he pushed the home button on his phone to light up the screen. Multiple missed calls and messages from Ignis, Gladio, a few from his assistant. And the notifications were just barely covering up the background photo of him and Prompto.

 

Noctis glared at the stupid photo. Prompto didn't even work for Noct's crownsguard but hearing his words stung just as much, if not more, than the others. Noctis had even thought about asking him if he wanted to apply but Gods forbid he subject Prompto to the same tortures he inflicted upon Ignis and Gladio all these years. For once, Noctis believed that someone wanted to be with him just because he was himself, not just because he was the prince or he was rich or whatever. Someone wanted to be friends with Noct, not Prince Noctis. But he felt like such an idiot for letting himself fall for that. 

 

Why would anyone want to be friends with him? Everything they'd said about him was true. He was selfish, rude, egotistical, whiny, lazy, stupid. There wasn't anything good about him. He felt so foolish to even think that people would want him for him. He'd be as disappointing as a King as he is a Prince. He'd never had any real friends for his entire life, he'd just thought that he did. He felt ashamed that he let himself think that they liked him all these years, for being such a disappointment that they felt obligated just to stick around now.

 

Noctis hadn't realized he was crying again until he blinked and saw a small pool of tears all over his phone screen. He stubbornly wiped his eyes with his arms and picked up his phone, wiping the wetness on his pants. He was so tired. It was all too much to handle. 

Every step felt like his feet were solid weights but he eventually made it into his bedroom and only had the energy to collapse onto the mattress and curl up into the blankets. He just wanted everything to go away.

 

He wanted to go to sleep and never wake up again.


End file.
